


And darling, where is my head?

by Hopeful_Foolx



Series: Whumptober 2019 [14]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, No Beta We Die Like Men - Freeform, Spoilers for Season 4, Tear Stained, Tears, The whump happened in the show, Whumptober 2019, i don't know what this is, the magicians spoilers, unbury your gays 2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 23:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopeful_Foolx/pseuds/Hopeful_Foolx
Summary: Eliot is sure that Quentin is not real. Until he isn't.





	And darling, where is my head?

**Author's Note:**

> Another gift. Title is from Cannonball by Barns Courtney. A short one, now. All mistakes are mine, sadly, not a native speaker. God I just… I have to fix what they fucking broke like for fuck’s sake.  
Also, this is another gift, for a different special person (like... really really special) this time and yes, you are allowed to kill me, it’s okay. We’re dating. You have rights. Also, so cheesy but I needed that. Sorry not sorry. Schmoop and fluff and Eliot is hurt and…. All this.

“Eliot…” 

Eliot knows he is hallucinating. He lost a lot of blood, he was possessed only days ago. And the way the monster behaved with his body? Not really the best. He should really turn his head away now, look away, call a nurse. And Margo, because when he cries his eyes out again, he really needs her. She left a few hours ago with the promise to be back, so it is also possible that he is now… missing her. Being alone for a few hours might just not be okay after all that happened. That he used a lot of substances in his life maybe made him… funny to pain medication. All of this is so much more reasonable than the person standing in the doorway. 

It’s the same tousled hair, normally much longer, always making him look like the nerd he is. The same fidgeting hands, never calm, never unmoving, always busy. The same lip-biting anxiety that never really leaves, the same nervous smile, not reaching his eyes when he is this nervous. The same Quentin he fell in love with long ago. 

“I’m…”   
  
“...not real. You are not real, so better... Don’t say you are.” He swallows dryly, trying to look away, but it just doesn’t work. He can’t look away. Especially not when Quentin, not Q, the  _ hallucination _ moves into the room. Eliots eyes are burning now, his whole face feels tight and his throat as if it’s going to explode with the lump locked in it. He wants to start sobbing right now, but it would pretty much rip his stitches and destroy him completely, but maybe, just maybe, this isn’t so bad. 

“Okay, I won’t say… I won’t say I’m real.” A pause and he moves closer, hands twitching, as if his fingers want to move away from the tight locked grasp they are in. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yes, you are, I know you are, but you know what else you are?! You’re  _ dead _ .” He grits out, trying to keep the tears away even as he chokes on a sob. The hallucination looks equally heartbroken, in a way that is so Quentin it hurts even more. He remembers this face from their life together in Fillory, from the day his wife died. But this Quentin was real, this Quentin was real and now he was dead and gone. And Eliot had no chance to say to goodbye like he needed to, or do something to prevent that, or anything. Because stupid brave stupid Quentin was stubborn and stupid. And dead, of course. Not here, anyway.

“What if I… What if I find you. And I don’t say that magic is real, but I seduce you-” 

“Stop it, I’ll... “ he reaches for the red button to call a nurse, a doctor, anyone, Margo, Margo, yes, he needs her, but as he fumbles with it the hallucination moves faster, hand reached out, hand on his the next second. 

And it could be seconds or hours or days that go by after that. The hand is warm. It feels the right way of soft and and gentle as Quentins would, not too much, but just right. Real. It feels real, and the feeling rips his barriers apart and he is choking in a different way, when the sobs just come. He sobs into his pillow, not grasping the concept yet, until the hand on his presses down more and Quentin moves into his space fully. He sees him only blurred, but his features are still visible enough to make out. He is crying himself, even if not shaking all over. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Eliot…” He wants to tell him that he should be sorry, and should not be sorry, that he hates him, that he loves him, he wants to ask why and how and when and how again, but he doesn’t. He can’t even do anything, he can’t even move right now. 

And then there is a weight next to him, pressed into the free part of the mattress next to him, squeezing into the bed with him. It reminds him, yet he doesn’t dare to look. 

He tries to give Q a bit more space, but takes in a sharp breath. He is not healed yet, won’t be for some time. And Q… 

A new wave of tears make their way up but now he opens his eyes. 

“How are you here?” 

“It doesn’t matter, okay? There’s time for that later.” He hears Q swallow and then there are warm lips on his forehead. “Time for that later.”

They have to talk about it later, later, not now, because now they are forehead to forehead next to each other, even if this is putting strain on the stitches, he doesn’t move away. Even if Q is a hallucination, he doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t want him to leave again. Ever again. 

He’s tired and hurting, but now, finally, there is a spark in his chest, a familiar warmth. 

Time for that later he had said. So they don’t talk about it, not yet, only laying there. He sees the tearstreaks and Quentin can see his, until there aren’t any tears left. The pillow is wet beneath them. So is his shoulder where Qs head is resting. They’re so close he can hear both their breathing. So close he can see the leftover wetness in Qs eyes. A bit closer and he thinks he could hear Qs thoughts. 

Close enough that he doesn’t have to move when Quentin closes the last bit of distance to kiss him on the lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
